


Return of the Star Gazer

by Ancalimë (Cymbidia)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales - Fandom
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Back to Middle-Earth Month 2019, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Númenor, abdication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:02:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbidia/pseuds/Ancalim%C3%AB
Summary: Tar-Meneldur calls in his son Aldarion for an important and difficult conversation.Written for B2MEM Bingo Day 3I20: MeneldurCard #137: Nùmenor





	Return of the Star Gazer

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of going to my first lecture of this semester. It was a 9am anyways so eh. Fun times.

“Aldarion. Come. I have something to discuss with you.” Meneldur seemed unfathomably weary. 

Aldarion followed his father to a private study, still fighting his sea legs. At least father did not seem angry. Aldarion had grown so, so tired of quarrelling with father, but he did not know what else to do. He could fight the call of the sea no more than he could fight the need to breathe.

Tar-Meneldur settled into his chair with a sigh. He did not gesture for Aldarion to sit, so Aldarion stood in front of the desk like a child being disciplined by a schoolmaster, his hands clasped behind his back so that he did not reach out to steady himself against the desk.

“I have given much thought to the missive you brought from the Elf King.” Meneldur tapped the ornately decorated piece of parchment on his desk.

Aldarion swallowed down his relief. So father hadn’t summoned him to quarrel. “The missive is clear enough, father. As was my report.”

Meneldur shook his head. “I have a question for you, my son.” He leaned back in his chair and studied Aldarion intently. “What would you do, in my stead, if your heir had no interest in assuming your duties?”

Aldarion flushed with anger. So it was to be another quarrel after all. “I would not—” Aldarion began hotly.

Meneldur held up a hand. “You misunderstand me, my son. I ask not because I seek to quarrel with you, but because I have lately come to doubt myself. It seems more than fortuitous that you became such a dedicated mariner, if the letter is to be believed. Yet I cannot allow myself to hold my tongue and say nothing, when young Ancalimë grew up believing her father was a painting! Did you know that she once told Erendis that it was alright to tell her if her father was dead? You are less than a ghost to your family. But I see now that it was not for nothing. Shall I have to justify your absence as father, husband, son, as Heir to the King, in the face of such a missive?”

It was not a new argument, but Meneldur delivered it with such bone deep resignation that Aldarion hesitated and did not rush into his customary rebuttals.

“Father,” Aldarion said wearily. “I do not know what you wish me to say. I love Erendis and Ancalimë. I love you and mother. And I would not shirk my duty. But the sea calls to me. Can you not see it? It is the curse of our Elvish blood. I must heed the call of the sea, and you love nothing half as much as you love the stars. And I’m sure Parmaitë and Nólimon suffered somehow for their wisdom and their bookishness. Can you not be persuaded to make one of my sisters your heir?”

Meneldur’s weary expression turned stony. “Anardil,” he said, forceful for the first time in this conversation. “Not only are you my eldest and only son, you are the only one trained to rule. I see now that it would have been better had I given Ailinel and Almiel the same education I gave you, but it is too late for that, and the husbands I chose them are not suitable consorts to a ruler. No, it must be you. And if you wish to raise Ancalimë to rule, as I now see that you must, lest the throne fall to some side branch and incite strife in our house, you must make up your mind to do so now, while she is young and malleable, and hasn’t run away from home to be a shepherd. Yet. Do your duty, Anardil. As I have done mine. Do you think I do not wish to disappear to my tower in Forostar and spend my whole life watching the stars?”

Aldarion clenched his fists. “I do not see why it is so wrong, that I do not wish to be trapped in this one small island, when there is the great wide sea and all of middle earth out there.”

“It is not so wrong after all,” Meneldur said, tapping the missive from Gil-Galad. “And therein lies my dilemma. But I do not think it will be my dilemma for much longer. You have proven yourself to me, my son, and even if I disagree with the direction you take, you have shown that you are more than capable. Do what you will, with my blessing. And may Erendis and young Ancalimë forgive me, for giving you this freedom.” From within the voluminous folds of his robes Meneldur drew out a gleaming sceptre, studded with jewels. It was the Sceptre of Númenor.

Aldarion clutched at the edges of his father’s desk to steady himself as his land sickness swelled up like a wave. He stared, dumbfounded.

Meneldur stood, and got out from behind the desk. “I don’t have the answers, or even enough of the facts. Which is why it is up to you now. If you need me, I will be in my tower, gazing at the stars.” He clasped his son on the shoulder, and left him to contemplate the gleaming sceptre dropped unceremoniously on top of the paperwork piling up on the desk.

Aldarion circled around to the chair, and collapsed into it. He put his face into his hands. It was unclear whether the sound that escaped him was a laugh or a sob.

**Author's Note:**

> Aldarion wasn’t really, uh, a good dad a good husband or really a good son. Was he a good king? I don’t know. Maybe. 
> 
> Also this was not beta’ed pls let me know if there are any glaring mistakes


End file.
